


blisters

by deadeels



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Bottom Hanzo Shimada, Dirty Talk, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Mild Angst, Misunderstandings, oops i thought we were dating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-03-31 16:47:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13979358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadeels/pseuds/deadeels
Summary: hanzo’s gonna figure it out.





	blisters

The first time McCree came to him was after a mission, naturally. It’d gone badly, though certainly not as badly as it could’ve, and everyone was just a little worse for the wear. Mercy was hunkered down in her medbay with Fareeha, who had a stray sniper bullet lodged in her side—it was supposed to be a recon mission, which explained the lack of armor, but the presence of the sniper had been unaccounted for. Genji had begged off nearly as soon as they’d touched down, looking as tired as he could in that body of his, and even Lena looked exhausted when she bid them all goodnight.

Hanzo himself was looking forward to tea and his warm bed; as if to add insult to injury, it was fucking _cold_ in Russia, and even the heat of the ship hadn’t dried his coat and pants that were damp with snow.

He’d managed to shed said pants and coat and shrug on a hoodie before the knock came. Hanzo frowned—he figured most of the team at the base would be in the same position as him right now, eager to burrow into their warm beds and sleep for the next twelve hours.

He padded over, metal toes tapping on the floor, and flipped the switch to the door cautiously.

It was McCree, just as weary looking as Hanzo felt but—grinning, for some reason. Like he’d won an unspoken contest as soon as Hanzo had opened the door.

“Hey there, darlin’.” His voice was smooth and rough all at once, endearment sliding off his tongue as easy as anything. Hanzo wanted to wrap himself in it like a blanket.

“McCree? Is something wrong?” Hanzo had felt, unfortunately, worried for him, nausea churning in his gut.

“Not quite, sweetheart,” McCree said, though his eyes were a bit darker, his smile a bit more coy. He eyed Hanzo up, paused on the bare skin of his thighs that was not covered by his boxers nor his prosthetics. The look made a ball of warmth coil up in Hanzo’s belly like the dragons, _hungry_. He swallowed. Moved back from the doorframe.

McCree didn’t miss the gesture — he walked into Hanzo’s room and watched as he flipped the door switch.

When Hanzo turned to face him McCree wasted no time in backing him up into the door. He was without his stetson and his hair was tucked behind his ears, giving Hanzo full view of his eyes. The same dark look before, paired with his scent and sheer bulk getting him, embarrassingly, half hard within a few moments.

“This okay?” McCree asked, ever the gentleman, breath puffing hotly against Hanzo’s cheek. _Yes_ , he wanted to shout, _yes, yes, of course it is, I’ve wanted this since I met you_ — but he settled for a shaky nod instead.

McCree looked at him for a second longer before absolutely devouring his lips, spreading them open with his tongue, making them slick and wet and pliant. It was sloppy and filthy and Hanzo enjoyed it much more than he should have, given the circumstances.

Not 5 minutes ago he was aching to drift to sleep in his bed — now here he was, grinding against a cowboy’s thigh as said cowboy fucked his mouth with his tongue. What a turnaround.

Hanzo _whimpered_ when McCree removed his thigh, and again when he turned him, gently, around, placed a large hand on the small of his back and bent him over. The sudden softness compared to the frantic motions of the past few minutes made him ache in a way he hadn’t felt in years — Hanzo was perhaps more touch-starved than he preferred to admit, and it was like McCree was trying to make up for lost time.

“That’s it, baby, just put your hands up against the wall there — still good?” McCree stopped to wait for an answer, hands resting soft and warm on Hanzo’s hips. He nodded almost frantically, swallowing heavily, beyond words.

“Alright, darlin’,” McCree unbuckled his embarrassing belt, rucked Hanzo’s boxers down to his thighs. Distantly, he could hear the snap of a lid and the plastic of a wrapper, and felt mildly indignant in McCree’s optimism — though it’s not as if Hanzo was complaining.

McCree was surprisingly gentle in working first one, then two fingers into Hanzo, and again the sudden softness blindsided him. He felt surrounded, consumed, and when McCree slid a third finger inside of him he let out an embarrassing keen.

Hanzo made an attempt at using one of the hands propping him against the wall to cover his mouth, but McCree stopped him before he got the chance, gently removing the offending hand with the one not buried inside Hanzo’s ass and placing it against the wall.

The sight of McCree twining their hands together made Hanzo gasp for air.

“None’a that, baby, I wanna hear you fall apart for me,” McCree rumbled in his ear, breath wet and hot. Hanzo had no response, choosing instead to rest his forehead against the wall.

Eventually the slick sounds of McCree’s metal fingers sliding in and out of his ass paired with the constant stream of dirty talk in his ear ( _you look so good for me like this, Hanzo, takin’ my fingers so good, fuck, Hanzo_ ) and the intermittent jabs against his prostate became too much, and Hanzo managed to snarl “Jesse, get in me _now_.”

McCree obliged happily, sliding into him with one slick thrust that made them both groan. Hanzo’s eyes rolled back against his will and he reached behind him to grab McCree’s hip and push him _deeper_. 

McCree reached around and rubbed his thumb over the tip of Hanzo’s cock, smearing precome along the slit, dipping his fingernail inside. Hanzo was incoherent, unable to do anything but stay pinned between the wall and McCree’s dick. (It... wasn’t such a bad place to be.)

He felt the edges of his orgasm sneak up on him, until McCree was fucking up against his prostate relentlessly and it overtook him quick as a viper.

A moan ripped itself from his throat and McCree moved his flesh hand to cradle Hanzo’s face so, _so_ tenderly, swiping his thumb across the spit on his bottom lip.

“Yeah that’s it, sweetheart, come for me,” McCree was breathless himself but still rumbling. Hanzo could feel the vibrations of his chest against his back. “You’re so fuckin’ good for me, Hanzo, god I just wanna make you _mine_ ,” — and that word seemed to do it for him, made him come with a low groan and shudder. Hanzo could almost _feel_  it through the condom — the thought of it painting his insides and drooling out of him when McCree was done made his dick twitch violently, valiantly trying to get hard again.

They stood there for a moment, McCree plastered to Hanzo’s back and Hanzo leaning his forehead against the wall, before McCree gently scooped Hanzo up, deposited him on the bed, and went to the washroom.

Hanzo knew he should kick him out then and there — the man had gotten his fuck out of the smitten idiot, they could go back to just being friends now — but his prosthetics were always a pain to take off after missions, sometimes it was easier if there was someone to help with the locking mechanisms. And he really wasn’t a fan of having dried come on his belly for the next twelve hours.

When McCree re-emerged from the washroom, wet rag in hand and dopey smile firmly on his face, Hanzo did not kick him out.

* * *

This event seemed to flip a switch in McCree’s behavior towards Hanzo. Before, he’d treated him like a skittish animal, quick to anger and wary of most subjects. Hanzo had felt a bit indignant of the cautious treatment — he knew he could be.. unapproachable, at times, and there were certain topics he preferred not to talk about, Genji’s death being the most obvious, though it’s not like McCree brought it up anyway, but it’s not as if everything but weapons talk was off limits.

It was.. refreshing, to say the least, the new behavior. McCree felt comfortable enough to sit next to him in the mess hall and on flights, tease him during the slower missions and train with him at night. It was _friendly_ , something Hanzo didn’t realize he’d missed until McCree was already filling the space.

This behavior led to some weak inkling of hope in Hanzo, initially, that perhaps McCree wanted more than mind blowing sex and a good friendship, but this fizzled out after the second time McCree came around. It wasn’t right after a mission but on a lazy Sunday afternoon. Rain pattered on the window and the sky was grey, but not depressingly so. Hanzo’s prosthetics were waterproof but still tended to act up in the rain so he elected to stay in rather than train.

McCree fucked him again, though it was much less filthy and frantic than it had been the first time around. It was almost.. loving, like McCree and him really were more than friends-plus-sex, and it made Hanzo frown briefly.

McCree had been looking at him, metal hand gripping Hanzo’s calf and real one tangled in his hair. “There somthin’ wrong, honey? You want me to stop?” McCree did cease his thrusts for a moment and the feeling of his cock just.. waiting made a whimper escape Hanzo’s throat.

“No, Jesse — please,” he tapped his metal foot against McCree’s back, unwilling to stop this to dissect the complicated emotions lingering about.

With a soft smile, McCree resumed moving inside Hanzo. He’d figure it out later.

* * *

McCree came to him almost every night for two weeks. Sometimes, if it was after a mission or he was too exhausted, he stayed. Most of the time, though, McCree left quickly, and it left Hanzo with an uncomfortable ache in his chest.

He’d heard of this arrangement before.  ‘Friends with benefits’ was the western term, however contradictory it sounded. Hanzo supposed he ought to count himself lucky he got this much out of McCree — when he’d first come to the Watchpoint he’d expected nothing less than outright hostility from Genji’s closest friend, but the man had seemed unfazed by his appearance. Hanzo had suspected he was given some time to process it before he actually showed up.

Nevertheless, Hanzo could not bring himself to be happy about the situation. While he had to admit that getting his brains fucked out on a weekly basis had done wonders for much-needed relaxation, it hurt, deep in his chest like how it used to when he thought about Genji too hard. Like someone was wrapping their hand around his lungs and squeezing, and if he didn’t get his emotions in check right quick he’d run out of air.

McCree continued to act the same around him, seemingly unaware that anything was wrong — though he did catch Hanzo spacing out once or twice during conversations, or sex, or when they shared a meal. He never said anything but maybe a joke or two, and perhaps that was for the best. Hanzo didn’t want to cause him any undue worry.

He’d figure it out. He would.

* * *

In the middle of the second week, Genji came back. He’d been away since right after the job on the first night Hanzo and McCree had sex, volunteered the next day to finish the recon on Volskaya. Hanzo had missed him horribly, though he’d be loathe to admit it it was jarring to see him gone for so long after just getting used to being around him again.

The night he got back, Hanzo was waiting on the bridge for him with two _anpan_ he had made in the kitchens. Overwatch kept it surprisingly well-stocked — Mei had theorized once that it was to make sure every agent could make something that reminded them of their home country, should they need it.

And so, most of the ingredients were there, and Hanzo had gone to town a week prior to pick up what they didn’t have. Genji had always loved _anpan_ , would stuff his face with them at family dinners and then feel so sick afterwards that he’d collapse into Hanzo’s bed and force him to entertain him so he could be distracted.

Genji’s faceplate was already off when he made it up the cliff, and Hanzo could see him brighten when he spotted the _anpan_. Hanzo proffered one to him and Genji murmured, _thank you, aniki_ , as he folded his legs under himself.

They ate in silence, and then sat for a moment more before Hanzo asked, “did you learn anything that could be of use?” Genji hummed, turned his face towards the sky.

“Perhaps. Athena is looking through the data now,” he sounded distracted, bored even. Hanzo frowned.

“Is there something wrong?”

Genji smirked at him. “I believe something is going very _right_ for you, brother. Would you like to tell me about McCree?” Hanzo glared.

“There is nothing to tell,” he said, looking away. Genji chirped.

“Nothing to tell my ass, _aniki_. McCree told me about you two.” Hanzo frowned. Why would McCree tell Genji about their.. arrangement? Surely the man was not stupid enough to think Genji would want to know Hanzo was getting laid on the regular.

Genji frowned, sensing Hanzo’s confusion. “You two are.. together. Are you not? That’s what McCree told me.”

Hanzo closed his eyes. Impossible. Even Hanzo wasn’t so emotionally inept he couldn’t tell the difference between a strictly sexual relationship and a romantic one, even if he and McCree were good friends as well.

Genji shifted near him, suddenly uncomfortable. “I feel as if I.. should not have told you that, brother.” He looked as if he wanted to escape, so Hanzo gave him an out.

“There’s more _anpan_ in the kitchen,” he said wearily, and Genji looked relieved.

“I’ll just. Um.” He turned his back to leave, but spun around again to look Hanzo in the eye. “Talk to him, _aniki_.” And then he was gone.

Hanzo sighed. His comm chirped.

 **Agent McCree  
** 20:06 PM  
_hey sweetheart mind if i come over? wanna talk to ya. (n touch ya.)_

Hanzo shuddered. _You are the heir of the_ Shimada-Gumi. _You have killed dozens of men. You are in control of two centuries-old spirits._

 _Get a fucking grip_.

* * *

He figures it out on a Saturday. Or — McCree tells him, really. It’s raining again, almost all the agents at Gibraltar sequestered inside their rooms, though Hanzo can hear Hana and Lúcio outside, stomping in puddles.

McCree’s behind him, spooned up against Hanzo’s back, and the contact is making him dizzy. He doesn’t know why it makes him feel so.. high, being around McCree, like he could never stop touching Hanzo and it wouldn’t be enough.

It probably wouldn’t.

Hanzo’s drifting on the edge of sleep and wakefulness, content to stay suspended between the two indefinitely—awake, he gets to absorb the feeling of Jesse’s body around him, and asleep the warmth invades his dreams and makes him feel whole.

When he finally does manage to remain conscious, he feels a biting hunger in his stomach. He hasn’t been eating well lately out of forgetfulness, and his body urges him to go and eat something besides rice and egg for once. Jesse’s asleep behind him, hair askance, still wrapped around Hanzo like a sleepy octopus.

Hanzo allows himself a moment — just a moment, lest he fall in and get lost forever — of tenderness, and sweeps Jesse’s hair back from his face, plants a soft kiss on his forehead.

He’s so fucked.

Hanzo moves to get up and Jesse rouses, grumbling. He clicks his prosthetics on and stands to search out his hoodie. It gets a bit chilly in his room because of it’s distance from the center of the Watchpoint where the heat is focused. It’s an outdated system, but Winston insists that there’s not enough money in the budget to improve upon it, and so Hanzo is cold sometimes.

When the hoodie has been donned and the too-long sleeves rolled up, he moves back to the bed to stand over Jesse, now fully awake. Looking at him soft and sleep-rumpled in the dimness of the room, with the sounds of rain outside — Hanzo feels as if in a dream, when McCree speaks.

  
“Y’know, I think it’s about time you let me take you on a proper date. With dinner ‘n all.” McCree smiles softly, runs the tips of his metal fingers down the length of Hanzo’s tattoo.

Hanzo stills his hands where they fiddle with the sleeves of his sweater. Swallows. Ignores the sparks that follow the path of McCree’s fingers. “What?”

The smile slides off McCree’s face much quicker than it came, and he retracts his hand. It moves to scratch at the back of his neck self consciously.

‘I mean.. if you’re willin’ and all. I know we haven’t done much outside,” he waves a hand back and forth between them vaguely to encompass all the fucking of Hanzo’s brains out that had happened recently, ‘ _this_. But we’ve been together for a couple months so I thought—“ McCree breaks off suddenly, discouraged by Hanzo’s silence.

 _Together_. That’s what he had told Genji, and was now telling Hanzo. He inhales sharply. “I did not.. think of us in that way.” He winces at the words as they leave his mouth, bites the inside of his lip at the way McCree’s face falls.

  
“I only meant—I did not know you.. felt. That way.’ Hanzo looks to the side. “About me. I didn’t think it was more than this,” Hanzo copies his gesture, “for you.” McCree looks just a little heartbroken, valiantly trying to hide it and failing horribly, and Hanzo scrambles to fix it.

He can’t help but be a little proud at himself for forcing eye contact as he says,

“But it is for me.”

McCree frowns for a moment, catches Hanzo’s drift. His expression goes from sad back to soft all at once and he reaches for Hanzo again. “Oh, _sweetheart_.”

He allows himself to be pulled down into McCree’s lap until he can bury his face in Hanzo’s hair.

“I’ve been serious this whole damn time, honey.” McCree _sounds_ serious, even as he noses the crown of Hanzo’s head and leans them back so they’re reclining against the headboard. “I know I ain’t done much lovin’ on ya’, I figured you preferred it that way.”

Hanzo snorts at that, thinking of all the times in the past half a month he’d wished Jesse would just  _hold_ him.

“But I wanna change that, if you’re willin’.”

Hanzo looks up at him. “I am. Willing.”

McCree smiles. “Good.” He kisses him. Hanzo figures it out.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on [tumblr!](https://vrsnufffilm.tumblr.com/)


End file.
